


Sesquipedalian Ineffability

by iopeneditbeforechristmas



Series: brand new day [3]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gen, New World, and theyre both fucking nerds, because rose is a queen and dirk is my child, post-upd8
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-04
Updated: 2016-06-04
Packaged: 2018-07-12 06:54:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7090420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iopeneditbeforechristmas/pseuds/iopeneditbeforechristmas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your name is Rose Lalonde.</p><p>The new world, you have discovered, is not very much at all how you thought it would be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sesquipedalian Ineffability

Your name is Rose Lalonde. 

The new world, you have discovered, is not very much at all how you thought it would be. There is Kanaya, of course, Kanaya who has become so much a constant at your side you don't think there's a timeline out there where you don't share a beautiful, serendipitous relationship. Timelines where one or both of you don't exist notwithstanding, of course, but you like to think that wherever there is a Rose Lalonde, somewhere else in the universe, even if they never meet, there is a Kanaya Maryam, both of you looking up at the stars and thinking of the other. 

You think about the other versions of you a lot. 

It's beginning to worry you, actually. Such a blatant preoccupation with different outcomes of your timeline can hardly be natural, and surely the aspect of splinters and facets to a personality is more in the realm of a Heart or a Mind player? After all, you’re a Seer of Light; not for you the ways of brazen, gung-ho warrior queens or fearless, forward-thinking explorers. You’ve come to learn that the hard way.

You do not claw your way through universes to find out who you are. You watch the lines, stretching gold and glistening into the future, and you direct others to find out who they need to become. You are already all you need to be.

This is how you think for a time, a long time; on the meteor you feel simultaneously at home and utterly lost. At home, because on the meteor you have Kanaya and Dave and Terezi, better friends than almost all you’ve ever had, and lost in the way that only those who are the last of their species can be. So you drown yourself in love and drink and think that’s who you’re meant to be. Vriska puts a stop to the drinking, though you’re told she most certainly didn’t in the other timeline, but she can’t put a stop to the love and she can’t fill the hole in your heart. 

Kanaya, bless her, Kanaya tries. You entertain no delusions that Kanaya is too good for you, because you are not Dave and know that after all you’ve been through the two of you most certainly deserve each other. You are, on the other hand, painfully aware that she is not all you need. You’d be a shell of a woman without her, that’s undeniable. But even with her you are not, no matter what Sburb tells you, complete.

So fuck Sburb, you decide. What is a game to tell Rose Lalonde who she is supposed to be? You’re insanely, blissfully happy with Kanaya by your side, and you will continue to be as wonderfully content when you have taken your destiny back into your hands. 

You’re in the middle of another one of your internal rants against the machinations of mysteriously sadistic video games when you come across your paradox father sitting against a tree. 

He’s holding a katana in his lap, possibly the same one your daughter-mom used to kill the Condesce, possibly not. There are far too many shitty swords in this world for one universe, you decide. You can’t possibly be expected to keep track of them all. 

Dirk doesn’t notice you at first. He’s staring at the green space you’ve set out in front of the Town Hall like it’s just dumped him. There’s no anger in his stare, just a deep, intrinsic sadness you’ve come to expect from Striders no matter how well they try to hide it. You stand there for a while, the wind playing with the hem of your t-shirt. Dirk continues to not notice you.

“Sup, Strider,” you say, eventually. He looks up, frowning. He doesn’t relax when he sees it’s you. If anything, he looks scared. No, not scared. Nervous. 

“Hello, Rose,” he replies. His voice is flat, like Dave’s, but deeper. Stronger. Sadder. 

“I’ve been told that in most even halfway-civilised societies it’s considered polite, when coming across a family member who appears to be in a severe state of emotional turmoil, to inquire as to why they’re feeling so down,” you continue. “So here I am, asking.” 

“Thanks,” he says, with a ridiculous lack of emotion that would probably make Dave weep with jealousy. “But I really don’t want to obligate people to inquire about emotional states they actually couldn’t give two shits about.”

“Come on, give me a chance. I’m just a girl, standing in front of the teenaged paradox clone of her father, asking him to share a feelings jam with her. The least you can do is indulge me. And I resent the statement that I don’t give two shits about your feelings. I could easily give at least five.”

At this, Dirk cracks a smile. Unfortunately, the smile is also one without humour and filled with all sorts of feelings you can only guess at, but you’ll take what you can get. Besides, you’re practically salivating at the thought of cracking his shell. It’s been so long since you properly psychoanalysed someone; meteor buddies and Jade and John don’t count. 

“So,” you say, for want of a proper introduction. “What’s got you down, Dad?”

“Could you...could you maybe not call me Dad? It’s a little weird.”

“Yeah, I can see how it could maybe get very weird very quickly. Still, if Dave gets to call Roxy Mom I get to call you Dad at least once.”

At this, Dirk winces. Ahah. You appear to have made a start. 

“Is that what’s this about?” you ask. “Dave?”

“Sort of. I guess.” Dirk shrugs. “That’s a part of it. Knowing that you’ve basically fucking traumatised the brother you’ve looked up to for a large part of your life is certainly one way to get depressed very easily.”

“What an eloquent way of putting it. You do know he doesn’t blame you for that, right?”

“Yes, so he’s said. More than once. I don’t want to chalk it up to paranoia, but I think he’s probably lying. Or at least hiding the truth to spare my feelings, which is of course very noble of him, but a lot less than I deserve.”

You like to think yourself as something of an Ice Queen. Sure, you’ve been partially defrosted by the friends Dave affectionately and obnoxiously dubs the Meteor Crew, but you will always be comforted with the knowledge that deep down, you are a terrifying snow monster in possession of a grandiose intelligence and a ridiculously self-indulgent lack of emotion. It is therefore a tiny bit galling when you find yourself irreparably moved by the matter-of-fact way in which Dirk accidentally confesses his self-loathing to you. 

You find yourself instinctively pulling at his future. You see the possibilities rolling away; in one he makes up with Jake, and the two of them adopt a troll child and become far better guardians than each of their counterparts in your universe. In another there’s an argument, a great big beast of a fight made up of years and years of unaired grievances and pent-up hurt and resentment and frustration that ends every positive relationship Dirk’s ever had. You see him, a tired, taut wire of self-loathing and resignation that stopped being anger long ago. 

It is there and then that you vow to yourself to never let the Dirk Strider sitting huddled in front of you become the Dirk Strider of that future. 

“That’s ridiculous,” you tell him to his face. There is a time for subtlety; there are times for passive-aggressive warfare (though that list is hardly exhaustive, you have discovered); there are times for empty reassurances. This is none of those. 

“Is it really?” Dirk asks. Shaded orange eyes bore into yours; it’s a challenge, not a question. You find yourself overwhelmed yet again at the ability of Strider boys to stare people down even with half of their face covered in great ugly monsters of sunglasses. 

“Yes. Dirk, you are not a monster. It’s painfully obvious that you’re weighed down with an insane amount of self-loathing, and also that most of your relationships, quite frankly, suck. Either they’re tainted with unrequited romantic interest, general romantic confusion, tension as a result of wider romantic fuck-ups, or trauma from alternate universes. Your friends are great. One of them is my mother, and I adore her. But has anyone ever told you with complete sincerity that none of that is your fault?”

“I presume that’s what you’re doing right now.”

“You presume right, Mr Strider,” you say, and smile. You’re about to go in for a good old reassuring and absolutely useless platitude when you see Kanaya climbing up the slight incline towards you. She’s sweating in the heat and her hair is slightly askew. You may be biased, but you don’t think she’s ever looked hotter. 

You tell Dirk goodbye, and rush to meet your girlfriend. No matter what else, that is definitely something you will never get using to being able to say, and nor would you want to.

* * *

That night, in between gasping breaths and messed-up hair and hungry, aching kisses, you contemplate asking Kanaya how best to reassure your paradox father that he isn’t a complete fuck-up.

Unfortunately, or perhaps not, she soon makes it impossible for you to concentrate on anything other than her, and the thought is completely wiped from your mind.

* * *

It’s two days before you next see Dirk. Dave, despite knowing absolutely nothing about soccer, has decided to organise a game. Karkat is scowling and generally doing his best to act like he is completely against the crazy idea of playing human ball sports, but he’s also dutifully setting up goals and arguing over which teams are best, so the illusion is slightly ruined.

It turns out that, to absolutely no one’s surprise, the one who turns out to know the most about soccer is John. It also happens that, to absolutely no one’s surprise once again, he’s preoccupied with being some kind of wannabe casanova and either feelings jamming with Vriska or shamelessly flirting with the teenage version of your mother. 

You feel like you should be more perturbed by that. 

In the end it’s Dave, Karkat and Roxy against Jake, Jade and Davepeta. The supporters are a motley crew of carapaces, family members and assorted trolls. You can see Jane explaining the rules to Terezi, who seems to be taking issue with the existence of a round ball. You don’t even want to ask. 

Dirk is leaning against a tree, face predictably smooth and expressionless, shades glinting in the sunlight. There hasn’t been any rain since you’ve arrived in the New World, and you’re starting to miss it. You think you might ask around, find a Time or Space player not too occupied with their significant other to help you find out how to make it rain. Or snow. Or even find some wind. Constant sunlight can get on one’s nerves. 

“Hello, Pops,” you say, sidling towards him. Dirk turns to look at you. 

“Hello, daughter dearest,” he drawls. You’ve never thought about it before, but you find yourself noticing that his accent is odd. It’s a strange mix of Old Earth tones and inflections; the same vowel can be drawn out and then cut too short in the next word. There’s still a flat base of Texan, which you guess is how he’s supposed to sound, given that technically that’s where he grew up, but otherwise it’s a strange mish-mash of pronunciations. Roxy does the same thing. She speaks more consistently than Dirk, but after a while you realised that she really sounds nothing like the mother you knew. 

“Do I want to ask how many levels of irony that was?”

“Probably not.”

You shrug, turning to face the game. Karkat is yelling at Dave, who’s laughing; Davepeta is sprawled on the ground and trying to drag Jade down with them. Jake is staring at the forlorn remains of what used to be a brand new football. Roxy sighs. She waves her hand, and suddenly she’s magicked up a new one. Davepeta jumps up, accidentally tripping Jade up in the process, who barrels into Dave, who snags Karkat’s t-shirt, and suddenly the entire game’s devolved into a screaming, giggling tangle of flying mud-clots and disembodied legs. 

Jake’s laughter soars high above the others. You sneak a glance at Dirk to see his mouth twisted in a grimace; it looks very much like he’s trying to stop himself from crying. 

“That’s an awful lot of emotion for a Strider, isn’t it?” you snark. 

Dirk doesn’t say anything, just turns around and walks away. 

You are left with the unfamiliar feeling of having possibly said the wrong thing.

* * *

 

He’s sitting on a rooftop. You guess it must seem like home to him; it’s the closest thing you guys have got to creating an exact replica of his apartment block. Making one took a backseat in the preparations, because Dave probably didn’t feel like helping to create the scene of his childhood trauma anew, and Dirk said he didn’t care. 

“Hey,” you say. A slightly awkward atmosphere, harsh sunlight; these are foreign conditions for you. You’re off your game. 

“Sup,” he replies. 

You hesitate. “I’m sorry,” you say eventually. 

“What about?”

“My comment earlier about showing too much emotion for a Strider. I’ve discovered that’s something of a sore spot for both of you.”

“Are you always this insensitive?”

“Are you always this emotionally obtuse?”

Dirk laughs. “I get the feeling you inherited more of my genes than Roxy’s,” he says wryly.

“Yep. Dave’s the nerd, not me.”

“...You keep a collection of obscure gothic literature and know words like ineffable and sesquipedalian.”

You shrug. “I’m an intellectual.”

Dirk wordlessly holds his hand out for a fist-bump. You knock your knuckles against his; they’re cold. 

You sigh, readily prepared to face death at the hands of your severely depressed paradox father. It’s got to be said, in all of the several universes you have visited/been laterally involved in, that is not a way you thought you’d go. It’d have been something a lot more poetic, preferably.

“You know,” you sigh. “This definitely ranks as one of the tritest things I’ve ever said, but if you need someone to talk to, I’m here.”

Dirk doesn’t say anything, and you don’t make him. The two of you just sit in silence, staring at the sun go down until your phone beeps with what you know are several worried messages from Kanaya. You say goodbye and walk into the sunset. His shadow stays on the rooftop for another few hours, but eventually you see him get up to go home. It’s far too mainstream for your sensible avant-garde emotions, but you hope he’s okay.

* * *

 

 

The next day, Dirk comes to you while you’re sitting alone, reading, and starts to tell you what’s wrong. Not everything; what happened with Jake, nothing more, not the loneliness you know he’s been feeling since the day he was born, not the self-loathing that binds his body like the wires in his robots. Nothing about Dave; just the little stuff. Nevertheless, adrenaline courses through you at the thrill of the challenge, and somewhere in the depths of your icicle heart there’s a little altruistic fire that’s happy he’s starting to open up.

In return you tell him about Roxy, about the passive-aggressive warfare you waged against her for years, about the terrible, terrible guilt that’s plagued you ever since you got your head out of your edgy teenaged ass. 

You don’t tell him about Sburb and your role in it and how you still don’t know who you’re supposed to be, not really. That’s a conversation for another day. You will bring it up sometime though, just as you hope he’ll tell you about Dave, and his splinters, and every other thing that’s made Dirk Strider such a mess. With time, you’ll defrost him just like Kanaya and Dave defrosted you.  

It’ll be okay. You don’t need to be a Seer of Light to know that. 

**Author's Note:**

> it should probably be said that yes, i adore good omens, so yes, that is how i know the word ineffable. i do not possess any volumes of obscure gothic literature. also if i put any mums instead of moms please tell me, because i had to go back and edit in mom when i was reading over lmao. and i have just changed football into soccer to mop up any confusion


End file.
